


To see the sunshine, weather the storm

by coldflashwavebaby



Series: Barry Mardon [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry is a Mardon, Bounty Hunter Barry, Can I just trigger warning for Eiling being mentioned?, Canonical Character Death, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Grief/Mourning, He is a neutral side of the law ladies and gentlemen, Loneliness, M/M, Mardon Bros are mentioned but don't make an appearance, Metahuman Leonard Snart, Metahuman Mick Rory, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sequel, Tony isn't that bad of a guy, but he's still a douche, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldflashwavebaby/pseuds/coldflashwavebaby
Summary: “You could be more subtle, you know. Technically, you’re an accomplice to a murdering bank robber.”Barry furrowed his brow. “Yes, one that’s now dead, thanks to two of your detectives. Who was also my brother. So, lose the attitude a bit, David.”Singh sighed as he reached into his desk to pull out a checkbook. “I’m sorry about how things went down with your brother. I’m sure losing them in a plane crash, then finding out Clyde was alive, only to lose him again wasn’t easy. I really am sorry, Allen.”“It’s Mardon."





	To see the sunshine, weather the storm

**Author's Note:**

> I miraculously got some inspiration to continue this story. I am planning on writing maybe two more after this, but I have no idea when I will be getting around to that.

            Barry sat alone at a table in Jitters, his laptop open, but his eyes fixed on the figure sitting two tables away. The guy just _looked_ smarmy—his hair was dyed a light brown, but Barry knew it was originally jet black, changed so he wouldn’t be recognized. If he’d shaved off the ugly thing on his face he called facial hair, it may have worked.

            But, Barry had gotten very good at his job. As casually as he could, he packed up his laptop, grabbed his coffee, and stood up. When he walked past the man, his foot caught on the chair leg, and he fell, ungracefully, into him, knocking both his and the man’s coffees to the floor.

            “Shit!” He tried to stand up, but, in his clumsiness, he tumbled onto the man. “I am so sorry!” He scrambled back up as best he could, but the man just laughed.

            “It’s cool, dude,” he reassured. “Really. I think you’re just making it worse.” The man picked the cups up off the floor as an employee rushed over to mop up the spill.

            “At least let me buy you another one.” Barry insisted. A grin appeared on the man’s face, and Barry wondered if he thought this was some kind of come on. His research hadn’t said anything about his mark being anything other than straight, but if that smile meant anything…

            _Scumbag,_ he thought. “After all,” he continued, “I know you’re probably flat broke, Clay Parker. I mean, you got your girlfriend to bust in somewhere and steal money to pay off _your_ debt.”

            Clay Parker’s eyes widened, but Barry wasn’t done. “But then, you had to prove what an excellent boyfriend you are by _letting her get caught and take the fall for you_. What the hell?”

            Without waiting to hear more, Clay ran for the door. Barry sighed. They always thought they could get away. He waited a few minutes, thanking the woman who wiped up the mess and slipping her a $20 for her trouble, before flashing off. It took him less than ten seconds to corner Clay in a back alley, less than a block away.

            “Not fast enough.”

            Clay’s jaw dropped. “What…what the fuck…? You’re like Shawna—one of those _freaks!_ ”

            Barry frowned. “That’s a nice way to talk about the woman who is rotting away for you. But, good news for her, I made a deal with someone—I bring you in to the police, Shawna is released with no mark on her record. I know a guy.”

            “What are you, some kind of bounty hunter?”

            Barry shrugged. “Something like that. I try to help people like me, metas and others who find themselves sucked into bad situations, close to crossing a line. I help make their lives better. And, honestly Clay, Shawna would be _much_ better off without you.”

            He stepped forward to grab him, but Clay’s hand went for his back waistband. Time slowed. Barry sighed. At superspeeds, he darted around to steal the gun Clay was pulling and empty it. Then, as carefully as he could, he brought the gun down on the back of his head.

            Time resumed, and Clay fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Barry rolled his eyes, bending down to throw Clay over his shoulder. It wasn’t the perfect job, but it was definitely satisfying.

0000000

            “One Clay Parker for Iron Heights, locked safely in your holding cells.” Barry dropped in the chair across from David Singh, his feet propped up on the police captain’s desk and a smug smirk on his face.

            He didn’t know Singh well, but he knew his fiancé, Hartley, very well. He’d been Barry’s first case as a bounty hunter, catching the meta criminals that not even Captain Cold and Heatwave could catch. Luckily, Barry had nabbed him before any real damage could be done. In exchange for Barry’s silence about ‘Pied Piper’s’ secret identity, Singh agreed to give Barry reign trying to help the less dangerous metas. He’d only failed one time. It only took once for him to make a vow to never let another meta go without help.

Recently, he’d added paying Barry to bring in people in meta-related crimes that got away—like Clay Parker. Apparently, Heatwave and Captain Cold had a reputation for bringing in their criminals less than alive. They didn’t have the privilege of speed that Barry had, though, and their powers were more aggressive than Barry’s.

            The thought of Leonard and Mick twisted Barry’s stomach. He seen them once or twice since he’d chickened out of killing them and let them go, but always as civilians and always from afar. It didn’t seem like they were holding grudges about what happened, but Barry felt stupid and guilty, though about what, he wasn’t sure.

            Singh’s scoff brought him back. “You could be more subtle, you know. Technically, you’re an accomplice to a murdering bank robber.”

            Barry furrowed his brow. “Yes, one that’s now dead, thanks to two of your detectives. Who was also my brother. So, lose the attitude a bit, David.”

            Singh sighed as he reached into his desk to pull out a checkbook. “I’m sorry about how things went down with your brother. I’m sure losing them in a plane crash, then finding out Clyde was alive, only to lose him again wasn’t easy. I really am sorry, Allen.”

            “It’s Mardon,” Barry snapped, his hands tightening on the arm rests of his chair. “In every way that counts, I am Barry Mardon. And sorry doesn’t bring put my family back together.”

            The captain didn’t reply, just wrote out his earnings out on the check. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and, without waiting for another word, it was pushed open. Barry considered running, but Singh wasn’t done with his check, and _honestly_ , what’s the worst that could happen if he sat there like he belonged?

            Detective Mick Rory stepped inside.

            Shit.

            He tensed in his seat as the meta’s eyes fell on him.

            “Rory,” Singh berated, “what is the point of knocking if you’re just going to barge in here anyway?”

            “Sorry to interrupt,” Mick announced, his eyes not leaving Barry, shock and confusion on his face. “It’s about the ATM robberies. We got some footage from the bank security cameras—it’s a meta.”

            The captain nodded. “Thank you, Rory. You and Snart try and get an ID on them. And don’t tell anyone who you saw in here.”

            Mick wordlessly nodded, his focus fixed on Barry until the shutting door broke the spell between them.

            “It looks like you’ve caught Detective Rory’s eye,” David snorted, ripping Barry’s check free.

            Barry frowned. “I thought he was in a relationship with Detective Snart?”

            “He is,” Singh agreed, “against better judgment—it’s never a good idea to get mixed up with your partner—but they have an unorthodox relationship.”

            “You mean, like they’re polyamorous?”

            Singh chuckled, an amused smile stretched on his face. “Why, you want in? Trust me, Al— _Barry,_ there are some things that could stand between you and them having a happy relationship. I’d leave it alone.” He held the check out to Barry, who snatched it away.

            “Don’t I know it.” He flashed out of the precinct, back to the Allen house. He’d been squatting there since Clyde’s death, and the CCPD raided their apartment. Luckily, the last people who’d lived there moved out over five years before, and there were no interested buyers. He nearly collapsed in the doorway.

            Living day to day with the guilt of what had happened was bad enough, but being so close to Mick, the reminder of what he’d tried to do, weighed on him like a cement block.

0000000

            Singh called Barry less than forty-eight hours later with news that they’d made no headway on the identity of their ATM robbing meta. Apparently, his ability was turning to metal, and the cameras glared every time they tried to catch a clear shot of his face. Barry accepted the job at his normal rate.

            Which is how he found himself at Saints & Sinners, sitting at a booth and having drinks with Kyle Nimbus and a currently-off-the-radar shapeshifter named Hannibal Bates. He was shifted into the shape of an ex of his, a woman with short red hair and emerald green eyes.

            “I told you, I haven’t heard anything,” Nimbus repeated for the fourth time. “Whoever this guy is, he’s low level. He’s had no affiliations with any crime family and hasn’t done any big jobs, at least not since he turned into the Colossus of Rhodes.”

            Barry raised an eyebrow, and Nimbus shrugged. “What? I read. You ain’t the only criminal around here that knows shit, Mardon.”

            Barry snorted. “Not a criminal anymore, Nimbus. What about you, Hannibal? Any news?”

            Hannibal fluttered his borrowed eyelashes. “Not so much news as whispers.” He leaned across the table, so his cleavage poked out a bit, and Barry rolled his eyes.

            “What have you heard?”

            Hannibal poked out his lip in a pout. “You’re no fun, Bare. After all, I’ve heard a name for the man you’re looking for.”

            Barry tried not to look as eager as he felt. “And?”

            Hannibal motioned for Barry to lean forward across the table. He, reluctantly, obliged.

            “The whispers on the streets,” Hannibal whispered directly into Barry’s ear, sending an unwanted shiver down his spine, “is that the metal man’s name is Woodward.” He quickly dragged his tongue across his ear, and Barry jerked away.

            “Hannibal!” He wiped the slobber off his ear. “I told you, I’m not interested like that.”

            _Woodward…_ the name bounced around in Barry’s head. It was familiar…why was it so familiar? Barry thought back to his first and only stint in juvie when he was sixteen and decided he wanted to go into the family business, but got caught breaking and entering and got six months. _Woodward… Woodward…_ Tony _Woodward?_

“C’mon, Bare. I could be anyone you want me to be,” he heard Hannibal coo. Nimbus threw back his head and laughed.

            “Hannibal, you haven’t got a chance in hell. At least, not after what _I’ve_ heard about him.”

            Barry was yanked out of his thoughts, a frown on his face. “What’ve you heard?”

            Nimbus grinned smugly. “That you have a thing for the hero types.” He took a drink from his beer. “One of my sources say that you had the means to kill Heatwave and Captain Cold a few months ago—and I know you, Barry, if you have the means, you’re planning to use them. But, I can’t help but notice that there are still two meta heroes running around, and, suddenly, you’re a bounty hunter instead of trying to avenge your brother or follow in his footsteps to be a bank robber. The only reason I can think for it is that maybe you have a crush on one—or both—of Central City’s heroes.”

            Barry snarled. It’s true, he appreciated Leonard Snart and Mick Rory aesthetically. They also weren’t bad men—they helped, not only the higher up people and the big problems, but the little people and their smaller but no less important problems.

Heatwave saved a cat from a tree.

            Barry only slightly swooned at the news.

            “They weren’t worth my time,” Barry lied. “Just a couple of white hats trying to stop a tornado. Clyde shouldn’t have been stupid and tried to take them on by himself. Not their fault.”

            Really, Barry’s feelings were everywhere. The more he’d learned about his brother’s killers, the more drawn to them he’d felt. At first, he’d told himself that he was focused on avenging Clyde’s death. But, since his trial and failure, he came to the conclusion that maybe he’d started developing some sort of… _kinsmanship_ to them. After all, both had been thrown in the foster system as children, both bouncing from place to place. It just so happened that both found homes with parents who cared about them, eventually—Mick with the Steins, and Leonard and Lisa Snart with the Wells (Lisa more than Leonard—he’d been nearly eighteen by the time Dr. Harrison Wells took him in, but Wells kept him on the straight and narrow anyway).

            He tried not to think about Captain Cold and Heatwave. Thinking led to questions, which led to uncomfortable answers he wasn’t ready to give.

            Nimbus’ expression went solemn. “I know it’s been hard, since what happened with that girl…”

“Bette,” Barry whispered, a weight falling on his heart. “Her name was Bette.”

Nimbus nodded. “Bette. I don’t know if she was a friend or more, but losing her so soon after your brother…if having a little side-action with some heroes takes the pain away from that, Barry, I sure as hell ain’t judging. God knows we’ve all lost too many people, and we all deserve some love.”

            Barry shook his head with a sigh. “It’s not like that. They hate me, and I mildly tolerate them. We’re only on the same side when it suits us. There is—and never will be— _any_ side-action.”

The door swung open behind their booth, and Nimbus’ shit-eating grin returned. “We’ll see about that, Mardon.”

            Barry frowned until a hand fell on his shoulder. A cold hand. When he glanced up, he was met with the blue goggled of Captain Cold, full gear, and an equally fully geared Heatwave behind him.

            The bar had gone quiet—everyone knew the pair’s reputation for taking down meta criminals, and everyone knew about Barry. The room held its breath, waiting to see what was going to happen.

            Hannibal was the one to break the unsteady silence over them. “Ohhhh,” His ruby red lips stretched into a smile, “so _this_ is my competition.”

            Barry swiftly kicked him under the table. “What do you two want?” he asked, pretending that his heart wasn’t beating an mile a minute.

            Cold darted his head around, taking in the undesirables of Saints & Sinners. “Why don’t we take this outside…away from curious ears?”

            Barry sighed—alone in the back alley of Saints & Sinners with Mick Rory and Leonard Snart. It was like his dirtiest daydream and worst nightmare mixed into one. He stood up slowly.

            “Fine. But you two are paying for my beer.” He pushed past to head for the door.

            “Don’t forget to cover up and swallow!” Nimbus shouted behind him. Too far to kick him—and flashing over to do so would look even _more_ childish—he settled for sending Nimbus a middle finger as he strode out the door.

            Instead of the alley, he headed for the car Clyde had left him when he died, climbing up to sit on the hood.

Mick furrowed his brow. “Can’t you just run wherever you need to go?”

            “Can’t you?” Barry shot back. “Just because I _can_ run everywhere doesn’t mean I _want_ to. Now, what do you want?”

            Leonard stepped between them, probably remembering what happened the last time they were all alone together. “Girder—the metal meta,” he clarified, “what do you know about him?”

            Barry snorted. Of course, they wanted his hard work. One of them had probably overheard that Singh hired him to track the ATM thief down. “Your captain is paying me $2,000 for that information. What are you two willing to give me?”

            Damn, he hadn’t meant for the innuendo it came across as. Leonard walked closer to the car, until he was less than a foot from Barry, and slammed his hands on either side of him, caging him. It was probably meant to come across as intimidating. It actually came across aggressively hot. His breath caught in his throat as Leonard leaned forward.

            “How about we won’t throw your sorry-ass in jail for kidnapping and attempted murder? Because we’ve kept that pretty close to the chest, but I have no problem telling Singh that you’re no different than your murderous brother, Clyde.”

            Leonard didn’t see it coming. Hell, _Barry_ didn’t see it coming. One second, Leonard was threatening Barry, the next, he was pinned to the hood of the car, Barry practically straddling him with one hand around neck and the other raised like a weapon, vibrating at superspeeds.

            “Don’t. You. _Dare_. Talk. About. My. Brother!” he gritted out, a cocktail of fury and sorrow and grief filling him. He felt a tear slip down his cheek, but he ignored it. “You _murdered him!_ I may have let you go, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, and it _sure as hell_ doesn’t mean that you have the right to say his name and insult him to my face. _I AM ALONE NOW BECAUSE OF YOU!_ ”

            Genuine fear passed over Leonard’s face, like he truly believed that Barry was going to shove his hand through his chest. If he said another word about Clyde, he might’ve been right. But, at that moment, a firm but gentle hand wrapped around Barry’s wrist.

            “Calm down, kid,” Mick urged. “He wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He’s still twisted that you kidnapped me and his sister. He ain’t gonna turn you in, and neither am I. But, if you don’t let him up and put your arm down, I’m gonna have to burn it off.”

            Barry squeezed his eyes shut. When Mick Rory—the detective who was nearly suspended for beating a perp suspected of running a human trafficking ring until he was sent to the hospital—was being the calm and collected one, he knew he’d taken things too far. Slowly, he climbed off Leonard.

            “Girder hurt someone during his last robbery,” Cold choked out, still eyeing Barry warily. “It was an accident, but we can’t let other people get hurt. Tell us what you know. Maybe it’ll make up for what you did.”

            Barry scowled at him. Typical ‘heroes’. Everything they did was justified, but everything ‘criminals’ did was a sin that needed atoning. “Fuck you, Snart.”

            He turned to leave, but Mick still had a grip on his arm. “Wait, kid…” Barry reluctantly paused, only to have a scrap of paper forced into his hand. His eyes met Mick’s, who looked genuinely concerned. “If you hear anything about this guy or need our help, just call. He’s dangerous, and according the captain’s fiancé, your normal speed ain’t enough to stop him.”

            Barry frowned, confused. “Why? Why do you care what the hell happens to me?”

            Mick glanced over at Len, who was still glaring daggers at Barry. “Because, you’re a good kid who’s done his best. You could’ve killed Len and me, but you didn’t. You were upset about your brother. You wanted revenge. But, you’ve moved on. You don’t deserve what you’re going through, Barry.”

            Barry’s breath caught in his throat. He was…floored by the honesty in Mick’s eyes. One look over at Len told him that the cold meta wasn’t entirely unaffected by his partner’s words, either. In fact, he seemed shamed.

            But he knew they were feeling pity for him. Poor Barry—his parents died and he ended up in an abusive home. Poor Barry—his brothers were criminals and he couldn’t bring himself to be one, too. Poor Barry—‘both’ brothers were dead and he was all alone.

            Screw that. Barry didn’t need pity.

            “Thanks,” he snapped, snatching his arm out of Mick’s grip. He stormed off back into the bar, not even bothering using his speed. They were too smart to follow him inside. There were too many metas who would love to take down Captain Cold and Heatwave, given half the chance.

            He only hung around for another hour or so, touching base with Shawna Baez, who thanked him for his help with the law, and seeing a few other contacts he had before running back to his safehouse. Once there, he exhaled all of his problems. He’d considered skipping out of Central a couple of times, maybe heading back to Keystone or Hub, maybe even Coast, but every time, he decided against it.

            How would Mark find him if he left? True, Mark should’ve come back weeks ago, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to come back later than he expected. After all, he expected Clyde and Barry to have each other. He didn’t know what happened.

            The house was big and empty, and the loneliness was like a heavy shroud on his shoulders. He pulled the paper Mick had given him out of his pocket. All that was on it was a phone number. He considered throwing it away, maybe shredding it at superspeeds. Instead, he pulled out his phone and programmed the number in, under _TYWASC_. Then, he curled up on the nest of blankets and pillows he had in the sitting room and closed his eyes, finally letting his tears fall.

0000000

            The next night, he was back in Saints. He’d spent the entire day looking for Tony Woodward, searching through his history for any known contacts or family, but there was nothing.

            His family more or less abandoned him after he turned eighteen because of his criminal activities, he didn’t have any friends, and he wasn’t able to keep a job longer than six months because of his criminal record.

            Barry remembered Tony in juvie. He was a bully, always trying to overcompensate for everything. He tried to bully Barry, but his brothers had made sure that he was watched after while on the inside. Still, Tony had lurked, watching Barry from afar all those months, but never making any effort to go after him after the first day.

            He sat at the bar, not even bothering to look for anyone he knew. He just needed a beer. Denise, the regular bartender, slid his usual drink down to him with a small grin. He smiled back and took a long drink. He heard someone take the seat beside him, but he didn’t pay them any attention.

            Until…

            “Little Barry Allen.” Barry tensed at Tony Woodward’s familiar, taunting voice. “Or have you taken ‘Mardon’ now? Because, that’s what the _I’ve_ heard.”

            Barry spun quickly. Tony was about the same as he was at seventeen—big, muscley, kind of handsome until he gave a condescending smirk. Now, though, Barry also knew he was dangerous. Barry leaned against the bar, trying to play casual.

            “Tony. It’s been awhile. What brings you here?”

            That smirk appeared. “Looking for you. Heard you were asking around about me and my jobs I’ve been pulling.”

            Barry put one hand in his pocket, trying to dial Mick Rory. Something told him this conversation didn’t have a happy ending for him. “Yeah. I heard you were in town,” he lied. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve kind of become a loner since my brother died. I thought about joining you on a job, since we were both affected by the particle accelerator and everything. We could both use a familiar partner.”

            Tony nodded, but Barry could see he wasn’t buying it. He grabbed the arm of the hand calling for help, and, before Barry’s eyes, the skin turned to pure metal. “I wouldn’t try calling—the police?—on that phone in your pocket,” he said calmly, like he wasn’t about to threaten Barry. “Yes, I know you moonlight for the police. Here’s what’s going to happen, Barry. You and I are going to walk out of this bar together and get in my Hummer. Then, I’m going to inject you with this.”

            He pulled a syringe out of his pocket halfway, enough that only Barry could see it. “It’s a sedative. I got it from a guy who knows everything about metas and how to disable them. This will knock you out, and then I’ll drive us somewhere where we can have a private conversation, got it?”

            “I have superspeed, Tony,” Barry reminded him. “The second you let go, I’ll be miles away.”

            Tony’s grip tightened painfully. “Oh, you won’t. Because, if you do, I’ll do something neither of us wants to do. Your shapeshifting friend is in the back-corner booth, watching us.” Tony’s other hand went to the neck of Barry’s beer bottle. “I will squeeze his neck until it snaps. Then, I’ll do the same to the bartender. Then, the cute transporter when she gets back. I don’t want to, but I’ll kill them all, Barry.”

            Barry’s breath caught in his throat. He could see that Tony’s threat wasn’t an empty one. He would kill everyone. “Why?” he managed to choke out. “Why would you kill all of them? Why do you want me so bad? What did I ever do to you, Tony?”

            A broken, humorless laugh fell out of Tony’s lips. “ _I_ don’t give a shit. My only issue with you was that you’ve been investigating me. But…there’s a man. The man who gave me the sedative. He wants you, Barry. He locked me up until I agreed to help him find you. It’s why I started stealing ATMs all of a sudden—he knew the police would hire you. And, if _I_ fail, he’s got a bunch of other metas ready to take my place, and not as nicely as I am. But I remember you. You were like me—someone everyone gave up on, except you had your brothers. With them gone…I thought that it’d be better if I took you to him, as painlessly as possible.”

            Barry swallowed hard as he slowly pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket. “Okay, Tony,” he whispered. “You win…just don’t hurt anyone.” They both stood up and, Tony’s metal hand still wrapped around his arm, headed for the door.

            Everyone in the room could see that something was wrong as they watched Tony lead Barry out. Hannibal was the only one who stood up, though.

            Today, he was a burly, bald biker with a scar across his eye. Barry’s stomach sank as he put himself between them and the door.

            “Outta the way, freak,” Tony snarled, like he really had room to talk about being freaky. Hannibal didn’t budge.

            Barry knew what was about to go down. Hannibal would start a fight. Tony would end it with one, metal punch to the face. Best case, Hannibal’s jaw would be broken. Worst case, he would be dead. Barry couldn’t carry that on his conscience.

            “It’s okay, Hannibal,” he assured. “Just…let my boyfriend know I won’t be coming home, okay?”

            Realization came over Hannibal’s face, and he nodded. “I think that Baez went to see him, but I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

            Barry sighed with relief. If Shawna had left to get Len and Mick, they’d be there any minute. If not, Hannibal would find them. At least someone would be out looking for him.

            Hannibal stepped out of the way, and Tony dragged Barry out of the bar. There was a Hummer that hadn’t been there when Barry walked in, which Tony pulled him towards. When he pulled out the syringe, fear washed over Barry.

            Without a word, Tony took the cap off and plunged the needle into Barry’s neck. Almost immediately, his entire body relaxed. He collapsed into Tony’s arms, and the other meta lifted him into the Hummer. Before he could shut the door, though, there was a bright, flash of icy blue, and Tony was thrown backwards. Barry’s head was groggy, and his eyelids heavy, but he could vaguely make out two figures—one grey and one blue—coming at Tony. Tony pulled himself off the ground and turned silver, charging at the two figures. The grey one shot flames at Tony, while the blue one hurried over to the Hummer’s open door.

            “…arry?” he heard through the fog. “B…rry?”

            His vision focused for a second on the most beautiful, sparkling blue eyes. “Pretty…” he whispered, raising a hand to touch the face in front of him. Another hand gently stopped it.

            “It’s okay…gonna…somewhere safe...” Two strong arms scooped under his legs and around his back. He felt himself being lifted and pulled against a cool chest. Soft fur tickled at his nose, but Barry found himself curling into his savior’s chest, right before his eyes gave up the fight and slid closed.

0000000

            He was in a bed.

            That was the first thought that hit Barry’s brain, followed by “wait, I don’t have a bed”. He shot up in bed—or at least tried to. His limbs were still weak from whatever Tony gave him. When he tried to sit up, his body rejected the movement, making him flop back down against the pillows instead.

            “That was graceful.”

            He nearly jumped out of his skin at the cool, drawling voice. Leonard Snart was standing in the doorway of the room, dressed _casually_ , with an honest to god short sleeve, black t-shirt and jeans. _And no shoes._

            Barry would’ve gasped mockingly if his head weren’t throbbing so badly. He groaned. “Uhhh…what happened?”

            “You mean before or after you willingly let Girder drug you and throw you in his car?”

            Barry rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood for Snart Snark. “It wasn’t ‘willing’, he was going to—”

            “Kill everyone in the bar. I know.” Len’s attention fell to the floor. “The bartender overheard him threaten you. She’s the one who sent Shawna Baez to get us.”

            He strode slowly—almost _shyly_ —into the room, taking a seat beside Barry on the bed. “I…I was wrong, about you. After what happened, with you kidnapping us and threatening to kill my family, I thought you were a monster. A selfish metacriminal like…well, like your brother.”

            He flinched, like he was waiting for an outburst, but Barry had no illusions about either of his brothers. Clyde was reckless and, often, selfish. He was a criminal who probably needed to be stopped. Barry just always thought it’d be with handcuffs and a life sentence, instead of a death sentence.

            When Barry didn’t react, Len continued. “But, you would’ve let Girder do whatever he wanted to keep everyone in that bar safe. And…I spoke to Singh today, about you working for him. He told me about what you do—how you help metas who need it, and help him track down some of the ones that get away. And…he told me about Bette Sans Souci. That she came to you for help with her powers, but she died.”

            “Murdered,” Barry spat. “She was murdered. An army general shot her right in front of me. She came to me, scared, at Saints & Sinners. She’d heard that I was a meta human and a scientist. She thought I could take away her powers. I told her I couldn’t, but I could help her master them. I’d helped Clyde control his, so how hard could stopping someone from blowing up everything she touched be?

“We were practicing—she was getting better. We thought she had a chance at living normal. But, her old commanding officer, General Eiling, showed up and tried to take her in. He used some kind of advanced weaponry to take me down, and then tried to take her in. When she didn’t come quietly, he shot her. I couldn’t stop him. I was helpless.”

            A tear slipped down his face. It was his first tear solely for Bette. She’d been his friend. She was the one who’d believed he could be better than Clyde. She convinced him to use his powers for the good of their kind. He did what he did in her memory.

            “I had to drop her body in the river to keep it from blowing up the whole city. I just left her there, like she didn’t matter. Her murderer got away, like she _didn’t matter_. I swore that every metahuman mattered, and I was going to make sure that they, and all of Central City, knew it. It’s been four months, and I’ve kept my promise.”

            He looked back up at Len, who looked back with new eyes. Instead of the accusing, disdainful glare he usually gave, Len’s eyes were filled with understanding and comradery. Maybe a little affection? Barry tried not to let his mind run to wild with that.

            “Where am I?” He changed the subject. It wasn’t the Allen house, or his old apartment.

            “Mine and Mick’s apartment,” Len answered. “We wanted to make sure you slept that sedative off okay, and we didn’t know who to trust in that bar. So, we took you home.” He patted the bed. “Mick is covering our asses back at the precinct, and I volunteered to stay behind and watch you.”

            “Why?”

            Now, Len shifted uncomfortably, and Barry was eager to hear his reasoning. “I…I wanted to apologize for what I said, back at the bar that day. I have a sister and a foster sister, and if someone were to kill either of them, self-defense or not…let’s say I wouldn’t be as understanding and forgiving as you were. I was so concerned with my feelings, I never thought about the raw grief and loneliness you’d be feeling.”

            He swallowed hard, like his next words were painful to force out. “So, I…I told my sisters about you--you remember Lisa? And we have a little sister named Jesse. I was telling them what you've been through since you last saw Lisa, with Woodward and that abandoned house you've been cooped up in."

           Barry's jaw dropped, and Len raised an eyebrow. "I'm a detective. You think I haven't been keeping tabs on you?"

            Fair enough.

            "They…they want you to move in with them.”

            Barry’s eyebrows shot up so fast, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they grew wings and flew right off his face. “They what?”

            Len shrugged. “Apparently, you made quite the impression on Lisa when you kidnapped her, and she doesn’t want you to be lonely. She said, and I quote, that you ‘ _are_ moving in with her and Jesse, _no arguments’_.”

            He grinned, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Barry, on the other hand, was confused. He’d threatened to kill Len, yet his sisters wanted him to live with them? But Len just shrugged again. “They’re weird. I have no explanation. You’re going to have to get used to it.”

            They sat in silence for a few minutes—not uncomfortable or awkward silence, just that pleasant silence two or more people could fall into that made everything feel deeper and so much calmer. When Len fell back to lay his head on the pillow beside Barry, he frowned.

            “Why did Woodward try to take you?” he whispered, trying not to break the spell that had fallen over them.

            “I don’t know,” Barry replied just as quietly. “He said that he was hired by someone who wanted me. He even gave him a sedative powerful enough to knock me out. The way Tony talked, though…I don’t think his benefactor is going to give up. He’s going to try again.”

            Len gave a small nod, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Then, we’ll stop them.”

            Barry startled, turning his head to stare at the ice meta, but Len’s only reaction was to reach across the comforter and take Barry’s hand in his. “You’re living with my sisters. You’re family now, Barry. And family protects each other.”

            Len’s eyes slipped closed after that, which Barry took as the ultimate sign of trust from him. Barry relaxed into the sheets, following his lead. The apartment was peacefully quiet, and Barry basked in the serenity he felt just lying there with Len. For the first time in months, he didn’t feel so alone.


End file.
